Of Innocence and Alibis
by PteraWaters
Summary: Called away from his duties as an up-and-coming corporate lawyer at Wolfram and Hart, Angel is asked to defend an old friend against some major allegations. Namely murder. All human AU. Angel/Spike friendship, maybe more eventually. M for lang to start.
1. The Courthouse

_A/N: *Sigh* Okay, so I have a problem. I have too many stories in my head and not enough time to write them. Currently, my muse has been obsessed with this one, and not the ones I should be finishing. *Sigh again* It's an Angel and Spike story, maybe just friendship, maybe romantic. We'll see. It has nothing to do with my Vampire/Slayer series, as this is an all-human AU piece. Apparently I'm good at those._

_Hope you enjoy…_

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**Of Innocence and Alibis**

Chapter One – The Courthouse

Sighing as his phone rang once again, the dark-haired lawyer turned his chair away from the high rise window looking out over the midday LA skyline, and picked up the handset. "Liam Angelus," he answered, trying to keep the sigh from his voice.

"Oi! Angel!" an excited voice assaulted the lawyer's ear through the wire. "How's things been, mate?"

"Spike?" Angel asked, knowing the lazy British-tinged accent could only come from his former friend and covering his eyes with one hand in anticipation of what would come next.

"Yeah, it's me," Spike replied, moving on quickly. "Look, I'm callin' to ask you a favor. Yeah?"

Knowing he wouldn't like the answer, Angel asked through clenched teeth, "What is it?"

"Don't have to sound all down and put-upon, Peaches," Spike chuckled, using an old nickname that Angel was glad to be rid of now. Or, had thought he was rid of, damn it. "It'll be easy-peasy now that you're Big-shot Lawyer-man."

"What did you do this time?"

"Now _why_," Spike demanded, actually trying to sound put out, "would you assume _I_ was the transgressor?"

"That's always the way it goes, Spike," Angel pointed out. "Where are you?"

"Lucky for you, mate," the man lilted, and Angel could almost see his smirk, "I'm just a couple o' blocks away. Downtown LA courthouse."

"You'll pay me this time," Angel ordered, leaving no room for argument, though he knew one was forthcoming.

"Oi! When have I ever stiffed you on the bill?" Spike asked, offended.

"Chicago," Angel shot back. "Twice in New York. That trip to Paris."

"Oh," Spike paused. "Yeah, s'pose I do owe you. Look, I got money this time. Or, I can get it anyways."

"Do you need me to bail you out again?" Angel asked, knowing the answer would be as it always was.

"Yeah, mate. That'd be lovely."

"I'll be there in a bit," Angel told Spike, hanging up roughly and wondering why he could never manage to just say, 'no,' and go on with his life whenever Spike got in trouble. He supposed it had something to do with Spike being Darla's brother. Not that Darla was in Angel's life anymore, thank God, but he'd practically been family before _it_ had happened.

Almost shrugging on his coat before he realized it was eighty degrees out and sunny, Angel left the jacket and opted for his sunglasses instead, straightening his tie as he left his office. "Harmony," he sighed at his assistant, "I've got a personal matter to attend to. Would you make sure to call me if any Senior Partners start asking after my whereabouts?"

"Can do!" the secretary replied, all bubbly enthusiasm and cleavage. Angel shook his head, wondering if he would have to have another conversation with Harmony about appropriate work attire. The sad thing was that he knew she was wearing those clothes for his benefit, and Angel wanted nothing to do with her. Not because she wasn't attractive and not because those outfits of hers didn't affect him, but because despite her moderate efficiency as an assistant, Harmony Kendall lacked _intelligence_ like a man with two left feet lacked _grace_.

Waving once more in farewell, Angel boarded the elevator and rode down to the first floor, opting to walk over to the courthouse instead of driving, and let Spike stew that much longer.

As he walked, Angel tried to remember the last time he'd seen Spike. He knew it was after the break-up with Darla, because he remembered still feeling responsible for Spike, even though he shouldn't have been anymore. Yeah, that was it. About a year ago, on a trip back home to the east coast, upstate New York, Angel had run into Spike in a bar, the younger man slobbering drunk and hitting on anything that had a pulse. And Angel knew that if he hadn't dragged Spike out of there and back to his parents' old home - which now belonged to him - to sober up, the bleach-blonde would have landed his ass in jail. Again.

That was just prior to when old Mr. Stewart had disowned his son, for the third and final time before shuffling off and leaving the family fortune only to his daughter, Darla, and his second wife, a pretty young thing named Cordelia. Angel had heard – from Spike – that the new wife was even younger than Darla, but hadn't cared enough to find out whether or not it was true. He hoped it _was_ true and that Darla rankled at the thought that she had to share her daddy's money with some bimbo.

Sighing at these unkind thoughts, Angel reached out and yanked open the courthouse door, swearing that every time he had to come here, that solid wooden and glass door got heavier and heavier. Or maybe he just dreaded entering the building where he would have to find out what had landed Spike in hot water this time. With no one to turn to but his old pal, Angel.

Folding his sunglasses and stowing them in the pocket of his tailored suit pants, Angel walked down the long hallway of the courthouse, taking the big staircase in the center of the building down into the basement. Where they kept the criminals. Angel hadn't taken any criminal defense cases since being recruited to this new firm, Wolfram and Hart, two years ago, but he still remembered the ins and outs of the courthouse like he'd been there yesterday.

And one of those ins was the thin Hispanic woman lounging behind the bars of her reception counter, picking at her nails. Angel knew this demeanor was deceiving, as Rosa was one of the most efficient paper pushers this side of the Rocky Mountains. Hell, she'd probably forgotten twice as much as Harmony had ever learned about proper filing systems. As always, Rosa's hair was tied back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, curly graying strands escaping here and there, and her dress was floral and loose, but professional. Right down to the cotton-lace collar at her neck.

"Hi there, Rosa," Angel greeted the woman, leaning on the counter and giving her a small smile through the bars. "How are you?"

"Been better," she shrugged, only the way her eyes shot up to his face betraying how surprised she was to see him. "Thought you were done with this shit."

Chuckling, Angel replied, "I'm doing a favor for a friend."

"Would this friend happen to be a Mr. William P. Stewart?" Rosa asked, still casual as she sat up and grabbed a file from the top of her 'In' box.

"Yeah," Angel sighed. "That's him. What can you tell me?"

Clucking her tongue in disappointment, Rosa flipped through the file, finally saying, "Manslaughter. Bail's been set at two mil."

"Two million?" Angel asked, incredulous, his heart clenching as the charge sunk in through the surprise. "Who the fuck do they think he killed?"

"A guy named Riley Finn. Says here he was a private citizen, but everyone and their dog knows Finn's been working with Vice as a CI for years."

"How?" Angel asked, pinching the bridge of his nose to will away the headache blooming behind his eyes. "I mean, how does the ME say Finn died?"

"Stab wound. Broken glass to a major artery. Bled out real quick." Rose relayed the information dispassionately, like any good professional, but it irked Angel to think that Spike could be involved in something this fucked up, and Angel had to hear the details in such a clinical manner.

"Thanks, Rose," Angel sighed, slapping the edge of her counter as he stood up straight. "Might as well start making a copy for me. I'm taking the case."

"Don't need to check with your fancy new bosses?" Rosa asked, raising one eyebrow at him as she closed the case file, setting it down lightly in the middle of her desk.

"Not for this one," he told her, resisting the urge to sigh again. "He's down in Holding?"

"Yeah, should be," Rosa nodded, giving a little salute in farewell. "Be careful, Angelus."

"Thanks, Rose," Angel called back, waiting for her to buzz him through to the secure area behind the bars.

After allowing the guard to pat him down for weapons and telling the man _he was Mr. Stewart's lawyer and he'd like to talk to him, please,_ Angel followed the guard a few cells down to the one on the end. Inside, a lithe man sat alone, swamped in his weather-inappropriate black leather duster, elbows resting on his knees as he waited. Spike's hair was still bleached-blond and slicked back, though Angel could remember a time when it had been brown and loosely curly whenever Spike let it grow too long.

Angel sighed, and Spike looked up, his expression melting from one of resigned despondency to excited relief. "Angel!" he cried, jumping to his feet and clutching at the bars between them. The cadence of his British accent, never lost after the move to the States, tickled Angel's memory, at once foreign and familiar. In some ways, it reminded Angel of his father's Irish accent, which he hadn't heard in a very, very long time. "Glad you could make it, mate!"

Angel got a better look at his maybe-not-so-former friend, whose clothes were a little ratty, a few years out of style and well-worn, but still somewhat respectable. Not that Spike had _ever _been _close _to respectable, even when he still had access to the Stewart fortune. Looking up from the heavy Docs on Spike's feet and into the man's face, Angel noticed that of all the things that hadn't changed about Spike, this had. He looked _older_. Worn out and run ragged. _Drugs_, Angel thought angrily, though he could tell Spike was stone-cold sober now.

"Spike," Angel nodded, letting his eyes soften for just a moment in concern before hardening them again. "These are some serious allegations."

"No shit," Spike agreed, reaching through the bars to touch Angel's elbow, as if to make sure he was real. "Didn't even know why they brought me in until the bail hearing this mornin'."

"They didn't tell you the charges when they arrested you?" Angel asked, eyeing Spike's hand warily and wondering if the cops had slipped up in a way he could use to their advantage.

"Sure they did," Spike shrugged, taking back his hand and shoving both into the pockets of his duster, defensively. "Don't quite remember, actually. Reckon they fucked up?"

"We'll see," Angel said, feeling his jaw clench again and trying to relax so he wouldn't worsen the headache he already had. "First thing we've got to deal with is the bail. Did you know it's set at two million?"

Spike whistled in appreciation. "Didn't notice, Ange," Spike smiled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Was too busy chattin' up the bird they assigned as my defense."

"Is that why you called me? Because you pissed off the attorney they gave you?"

"Well, she weren't exactly on my side anymore after this morning, were she?" Spike replied, hovering somewhere between faux-chauvinistic pride and chagrin at Angel's disapproving expression. "Figured you'd do alright by me, though. For old time's sake?" Spike's expression changed again, along with his voice, Angel noticed, carefully schooled into a mask of vulnerability and hope.

"Lay off the puppy-dog eyes," Angel chided, turning away from the other man. "I already decided to take your case."

"Knew you'd come through for me, Peaches," Spike nodded, his voice low and solemn, and Angel wondered if this expression was finally the one that reflected what his friend was actually going through.

"Stop calling me that, and I'll see what I can do about lowering your bail. Even just having to put down earnest money, there's no way I can cover two million." Shaking out his hands in frustration before crossing his arms over his chest, Angel pointed out, "We might have to go to Darla for the rest."

Nodding, with a dazed, far-off look that told Angel Spike wasn't looking forward to reaching out to his sister, the blond man cursed, "Bugger."

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_Please review! If enough people are interested, I'll post the second chapter later this week._


	2. Darla

_A/N: I think my hit counter is broken again, so I'm posting the next chapter now in order to test it. If you could leave a review at the end, that would ease my mind greatly. _

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Of Innocence and Alibis

Chapter 2 - Darla

"Ms. Stewart's office," a young man answered Darla's phone, and Angel clenched his fists at the sound. He wondered, unkindly, whether she was sleeping with this one, too. "Who may I say is calling?"

"Tell her it's her brother William's attorney," Angel replied, grinding out the words very carefully and steeling himself for the inevitable sound of her voice, if only this fucking kid would pass the phone over. He'd wanted Spike to make this call, telling him that there were a million other painful things Angel would rather do than call up his ex. But since he was in custody, Spike had very limited call privileges, which left the responsibility up to the lawyer.

"And what may I say this is regarding?"

"Her brother," Angel practically growled in his ear, wondering why the assistant would even ask. Wasn't knowing that his boss' brother had an attorney cause enough to put the call through? "William Stewart."

"Hold a moment, please," the now almost-snide voice on the other end reacted to Angel's gruff manner, just before clicking over to one of those music services. Angel waited, the music a frustrating hurdle before he could talk to Darla and get this fucking phone call over with.

"This is Darla Stewart," a cold voice answered, and Angel knew that it had been mention of Spike needing legal representation that provoked this reaction from her. She'd been on the receiving end of this call even more often than Angel had, and he could tell she was getting sick of it.

"Light jazz, Darla?" Angel asked, in reference to the on-hold music. "Really? Couldn't have sprung for the Classical recording?"

"Liam," the woman replied, her voice now stiff and cold. "Dante mentioned this was regarding Spike?"

"Yeah, I'm not happy about it either, _sweetheart_," Angel muttered, sighing and scribbling on a pad of paper with a pen, making angry dark lines of ink to match his mood. "But it's pretty serious."

Concern breaking the ice of her voice, Darla asked, "Where is he?"

"In LA," Angel answered, "with me. He's fine, but these charges ... Man-two."

"Shit," Darla whispered. Angel had known that even though Darla refused to give her disinherited brother money to fuel his lifestyle, she still cared about him. Spike was someone who would have a place in her life forever. Not Angel. Not anymore. "What do you need?"

Ah yes. He'd been counting on Darla to cut straight to the point, so Angel replied, "Bail is two mil. I'm trying to get it reduced, but who knows how well _that_ will go."

"Yeah, in your district," Darla agreed, "don't count on it." After a slight pause, she said, "I'm guessing baby brother doesn't want to wait for his trial in the county lockup?"

"No," Angel replied. "Not really. He's a fuck-up, sure," he admitted, expecting Darla's protective scoff and then hearing it, "but he's not cut out for prison."

"Not with that face," Darla agreed. "A chip right off the old Daddy Stewart block, isn't he?"

Stunned, Angel realized that in all the years he'd known the younger man, he never noticed how much Spike looked like his old man. And Spike had inherited the wicked sense of humor and charm from his father as well. No wonder he'd gotten off light on everything before, always earning just a fine or a slap on the wrist any time he got arrested. Well, that and having the best lawyers money and influence could buy. Despite his bad-boy facade, Spike could charm the pants off an Eskimo in the dead of winter. And knowing Spike, he'd probably try to sleep with said Eskimo while he was at it.

The ability had made Mr. Stewart Senior one of the best businessmen in the world, giving rise to the fortune Darla had inherited and that had given Spike all the privileges Angel had to work his ass off for. And, of course, younger Stewart never appreciated it.

"Yeah," Angel finally agreed. "Look, Darla. You know I wouldn't call otherwise, but Spike needs your help here. "

"I'll pay," Darla agreed, almost spitting out the words at Angel's implication that she might not. "I'll pay it, Angel. In fact, I'll come defend him myself."

"Don't do that, Darla," Angel insisted. "He doesn't want you seeing him like this. You shouldn't have to abandon your job over his screw-ups. I'll handle it."

"I don't like it," she shot back. "I don't think he should lean on you like this. He's my family, not yours."

"He could have been," Angel shot back, leaving silent the words, 'if not for what you did.'

The silence lasted far too long, until Darla softly spoke, not daring to let on how much or how little those words made her feel. Angel had never known what the fuck she was feeling, she kept her cards so close to the chest. "Let me hire someone, at least."

"If you want to pay someone, send a check to my firm," Angel demanded, trying his best to stay diplomatic and to avoid pointing out how she always tried to solve her problems by throwing money at them. Such a blow-up would definitely be counterproductive to getting Spike out of prison. "I'm taking this case, and that's final."

Huffing into the phone, Darla kept her peace for a few more silent moments before saying eventually, "I'll work things out with the clerk as quickly as possible. Be ready to take care of him, because I'm not sending anything else."

"Fine," Angel agreed, knowing he probably wouldn't have gotten paid to defend Spike anyway. He never had.

Hanging up the phone, because he really couldn't stand the cold and almost uncaring tone in Darla's voice any more, feeling sick to his stomach with old betrayals and grief, Angel wondered again why he kept doing things like this for Spike. He shouldn't feel so attached to the man, even if they'd been close during the years he and Darla were together.

What Angel remembered best about those years were the summers Mr. Stewart would put them up in his cabin on the Atlantic coast. Usually the three of them and, during later summers, Spike's girlfriend, Drusilla, stayed there alone, just enjoying the weather and the few months away from school. Sometimes the old man would come by, parading his latest trophy girlfriend around the major social events and pretending to care about his offspring.

Angel knew he should have been interning at any of the legal practices in the city, but instead he, Darla, and Spike whiled away the summers on the beach, meeting other young people with similarly privileged parents, and enjoying each other's company. He should have known when Darla took time to herself, she was actually sneaking off for liaisons with those other young men. Men more 'qualified' for her affections than Angel, who had grown up in a comfortable middle-class home, but hadn't had any wealth to fall back on.

Angel realized, after thinking it over for a few years, his relationship with Darla had been, for her, a way to rebel against what her father expected of her. She'd latched on to Angel in law school, a man just poor enough to make it exciting for her. And he'd fallen for her, no questions asked.

But, when he and Spike were left to fend for themselves during Darla's absences, he'd taken the younger man under his wing, so to speak. That first year, Spike was eighteen and Angel twenty three, fresh out of his first year of law school. It just seemed right to keep an eye on Darla's brother, going to parties together, making sure he didn't get too drunk, basically just hanging out, talking about anything and everything.

The next summer, after Spike's first year of college, Angel noticed how much more confident the younger man had gotten, goading Angel into reckless acts of hedonism and youthful risk-taking. They'd gone cliff diving with some other boys, bonded over rebuilding a small-engine motorcycle Spike 'found', and chased girls at a house parties in town, Angel just barely managing to keep from cheating on Darla. If only he'd known then what she'd been doing those nights, Angel wouldn't have stopped himself. It would have been like college all over again, and maybe he could have had something to brag to Spike about, rather than being bragged to at every opportunity.

It was that summer, the summer before Spike started seeing Drusilla, that Angel first saw his friend in a compromising position with another man. Sure, Spike always joked about 'going after blokes', but Angel had never known he was serious until that party in late August. Darla had been with them that night, sneering in distaste at the drinking games and the music and everything else, but loosening up the more alcohol Angel served her.

Eventually she hit that tipping point, where she wanted Angel right then, her dancing growing so obscene that he wanted to take her home before his skin shriveled from blushing. He'd sent Darla after her sweater, stowed in one of the upstairs bedrooms, and had gone to find Spike, to make sure he could fend for himself. And Angel found Darla's brother, lounging in a pool chair, his hands and lap and lips full of a drunken frat boy with a backwards baseball cap.

He almost went to go save Spike, knowing from personal experience how pushy these closeted frat boys could get, but as he got closer, he realized that the blonde was definitely enjoying himself. Thoughts full of getting Darla home and no longer worried for Spike's safety, Angel had left him there. And got bragged to the next morning over brunch.

"Guess what I did last night," Spike had grinned, when Darla got up to fetch more orange juice from the house, leaving her brother and her boyfriend out on the porch by themselves.

"I don't have to guess," Angel replied, looking carefully over the morning paper at his friend. "I saw you making out with someone."

"Yeah?" Spike asked, that grin still plastered on his face as he buttered a piece of toast. "Did you happen to see who it was, mate?"

"I saw a red baseball cap," Angel replied diplomatically, curious but not wanting to appear overly so. Especially since Darla never knew about Angel's history with men. He figured it had been college, and men were easy, simple as that. No need to fill her in, especially given the derisive way she talked about Keith, the gay guy in their law school class. And at this point, Angel had been head-over-heels in love with Darla, intent on getting her to settle down and marry him. The past was the past, and she didn't need to know.

"Bloody hell," Spike swore gleefully, craning to peer down the hallway. "Don't tell Sis, but I fucked Warren Birchman. All soddin' night!"

Ah. Warren Birchman was the son of Mr. Gary Birchman, one of Mr. Stewart's business partners and heir to the throne, so to speak. And though he acted straight – like the frat boy he had been in college, Angel was sure – Angel had seen a flicker of interest in the man's eyes more than once. He wasn't at all surprised that it had been Spike to finally prod him into taking that leap. "Why shouldn't I tell her?" Angel asked, raising his eyebrows in an expression of mock outrage.

Spike threw a strawberry at Angel's head, chuckling when it missed. "I'm all for outing the bastard, Peaches, but Darla's had a thing for him since we were little."

"Really?" Angel asked, suddenly put off his French toast. He never liked hearing about Darla's former interests.

"Didn't matter," Spike shrugged. "At those awful company functions, she'd always be hanging on his arm, laughing at his jokes. Don't worry though," Spike assured him, "that guy has never been into Darla. I heard he went out with some girl named Sissy in college, but she dumped him pretty quick. Think I found out why." Spike leered at Angel, obviously proud of himself, and it took all of Angel's effort to keep a straight face.

"Good for you," he said dryly, hearing Darla come back out to the porch. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I'm not an idiot, Ange," Spike replied, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, sure you are, darling," his sister replied, patting Spike on the head as she passed and smiling at Angel in that way that had never failed to make a smile leap to his lips as well. Especially after the night before, which they made good use of in Spike's absence. At that moment, Angel felt for sure that this was his family, that when he proposed to Darla at the end of the summer, there was no way she would refuse.

And she hadn't. But two summers and no wedding later, they finally broke up, and by that point, Angel found it to be a relief. And for some reason, he'd never thought of breaking off his friendship with her brother, like of all the things she'd taken from him, Spike wouldn't be one of them.

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_Don't forget to review!_


	3. Confessions

Of Innocence and Alibis

Chapter 3 - Confessions

Knowing this couldn't be helped, Angel made his way up to Marcus Hamilton's office the next morning. An elevator ride and several deep breaths later, he announced his wish for an appointment to Stacy, Hamilton's secretary, and sat down to wait. Luckily, it wasn't more than a few minutes before the assistant called, "Mr. Hamilton will see you now."

Angel gave his thanks and steeled himself to exude confidence and purpose before opening his boss' door and stepping into the office. "Mr. Hamilton," he said briskly, announcing his presence.

"Ah, Mr. Angelus. Please, sit down," the man, who was less than ten years Angel's senior, but a ruthless son of a bitch who climbed the corporate and political ladders with the best of them, looked up with a false, tight smile. Shuffling a few papers back into their folders, Hamilton asked, "How can I help you?"

Taking the low chair that the man offered, Angel began right away, "I'm taking a criminal defense case. It might end up being _pro bono_, so I'll go on a leave of absence to spare the firm any expense."

Squaring his already angular jaw, Hamilton nodded, "I see. And what makes you think this is a good idea?"

"It's not," Angel replied, chuckling a little to lighten the mood, even though that never worked on Hamilton. "But I can't in good conscience refuse."

"Not even in bad conscience?" Hamilton asked, giving a false chuckle to match Angel's.

Playing along, Angel smiled and replied, "No, sir."

"Well," the man sighed, shuffling his papers again, "I will admit that you've got excellent timing. The last case we would have lobbed in your direction was just dropped." Nodding as if to himself, Hamilton decided, "I'll let you take this case, but I'm going to have to say, 'no,' to the leave of absence. I want to oversee your work, and be able to step in when I deem fit."

"That's really not necessary," Angel replied harshly, upset by Hamilton's implications and not wanting to subject Hamilton to a friend like Spike, who took the term 'dignified' and usually shit all over it.

In a no-nonsense tone of voice that would not be argued with, Hamilton insisted, "You're a member of this firm, Angelus. Unless you'd rather cut ties with us completely, I have to insist you let us be involved. I won't have you tarnishing our good name if this goes south."

Seeing no other options, Angel snarled, "Fine. I'll get you a copy of the case file and keep you apprised of any developments."

"Oh, I already have a copy," Hamilton replied, holding up the folder that had been sitting in front of him. "The case against your friend, William, is tenuous, but further evidence could put a kink in your arguments. Let me know as soon as you have a strategy."

Getting the distinct impression that he'd just been dismissed, Angel nodded once, trying to hide his indignant anger, before standing and leaving the office. How the hell had Hamilton known what he was up to? It was one thing watching his every move during the cases he was assigned, but now Hamilton was watching his private movements, too? Fucking hell!

Outside his much smaller office downstairs, Angel noticed Harmony, dumbly filing her nails like she hadn't a care in the world. Oh, he'd give her something to care about! As he passed her desk, Angel growled, "My office. Now!"

Pacing the room as he waited for Harmony to get off her lazy ass, Angel stewed about the implications of Hamilton's orders. He wouldn't have final say over this case. He might not be able to defend Spike to the best of his abilities if Hamilton stuck his nose into the case. The man was an excellent corporate attorney, but he had no clue how the criminal justice system really worked. Angel did. He'd proven himself at his last firm time and time again. Why couldn't Hamilton just get that stick out of his ass and trust that Angel knew what he was doing?

Finally, Harmony sauntered in, "What's up, Boss?"

"Close the door," he said quietly, one hand on his hip and the other pinching the bridge of his nose again. Angel had a sinking feeling that this headache wouldn't fade until Spike's trial was over. Fucking fantastic.

When Harmony followed his orders, closing the door, she left one hand on knob, looking ready to make a hasty escape. Angel knew that the secretaries gossiped about him, about his tendencies to throw things and yell when he got upset, but he'd never seen Harmony afraid of him before. Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, Angel steadied his voice and asked, "Did you make a copy of the file Rosa sent me yesterday?"

"Yeah, sure," Harmony nodded, her confidence and easy smile coming back as Angel calmed down.

"Who did you give this copy to?"

"Oh," she replied, and Angel knew she'd done something he wouldn't like.

"Did you send it up to Mr. Hamilton?"

Simpering a little and pressing herself against the door like she might be able to melt into it, Harmony nodded and insisted, "It's orders, Angel. I always make copies for him."

Working very hard to stay calm and collected, Angel asked, "That control freak has gotten copies of all of my paperwork?"

"Uh-huh," Harmony agreed, watching him closely, probably convinced he would try something if she so much as blinked.

"Alright," Angel decided, knowing this dumb little girl wasn't to blame. "I just wish you'd told me, Harm."

"Is that it?" she asked, watching as Angel nodded carefully.

"That's it."

Angel watched as Harmony made her escape, taking another few breaths so he wouldn't do something stupid, like punch a wall. He should have known better than to trust anyone. Harmony included. Darla had taught him that lesson, and he'd been slowly forgetting it.

"Fuck," he muttered, throwing himself down into his chair and opening Spike's case file again.

Could he even trust Spike when the man said he was innocent? He had to know, so he picked up the phone and made an appointment.

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Two hours later, he'd managed to get Spike into a conference room at the county penitentiary where they could talk. Sure, his friend would be chained to the table, but at least they could sit and have a conversation and Angel could look him in the eye.

"Hey, Ange," Spike said when the officer showed him in and locked him up, the process dimming his grin somewhat. Angel hated anything that dimmed that smile, no matter how much it resembled the one Darla had used to break his heart.

"Spike," Angel nodded, waiting for the officer to finish and leave them. "How was your night?"

"Fuckin' terrible," Spike replied. "Though I have to say, the food's not bad."

Angel nodded, shifting in his chair before confessing, "I talked to Darla. She's settling the bail and I should be able to get you out of here soon."

"Brilliant," Spike nodded gratefully.

"Make any friends?" Angel asked salaciously, chuckling when Spike blanched at the suggestion.

"Oh, ha ha, Angelus," the blonde replied, trying to sound angrily sarcastic, but a little bit of laughter colored his response, making Angel feel better about his friend's state of mind. The only time Spike wouldn't joke was … well, never. Even after Drusilla broke up with him two years ago, Spike had laughed away the pain, calling her a "right batty loon" and regaling Angel with tales of all the crazy things the girl had dragged him into whenever they got spectacularly drunk. As far as Angel knew, there hadn't been anyone serious in Spike's life since.

"Why are you in town, Spike?" Angel asked first and foremost. "Last I heard you were in Europe somewhere. Prague?"

"Prague was 'bout as exciting as a roomful of elderly librarians, Peaches. Just not the same without her, you know?"

Heart cringing at the sadness in Spike's voice over his ex, Angel mumbled, "I know." He'd gone through something similar after breaking up with Darla, unable to stand any of the sights or sounds of New York without her. It was one of the reasons he'd moved out here after law school. To be away from anything that reminded him of her. "But that doesn't explain why you're _here_. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Thought I was just passing through, dinnit I?" Spike growled, defensively. "Made a little money after Europe, and I figured out West was just as good a place to bum around as anywhere."

"Well," Angel sighed, unsatisfied by Spike's explanation and deciding to just get down to business, "why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Last night?" Spike asked with a grin.

"No," Angel chuckled. "The night Riley Finn died." Flipping open his case file, Angel checked one of the forms before saying, "Saturday night."

"When was Saturday?" Spike asked, looking up at the ceiling like he was trying to count the days and failing.

"Two nights before last," Angel reminded him, struggling to keep the indulgent smile from his face. Spike didn't need to know how much Angel missed spending time with the other man, so wrapped up in the next adventure that they lost track of hours and days and weeks. Those times were definitely over for Angel, though he felt himself almost comforted that Spike hadn't yet grown out of them.

"Two nights…" Spike breathed, trying to remember. "Oh! That was the night I stopped in that dance club. The one all the pretty young things like to go to." Thinking again, he snapped his fingers and cried, "The Bronze! That's the one. Ripe pickings there, mate."

"I'm sure," Angel replied, before asking, "When did you get there?"

"How'm I s'posed to know?" Spike asked, his voice colored with exasperation. "It was dark. Plenty of people there already. Prob'ly round ten? Eleven? Not sure."

Angel wrote this down on his yellow legal pad, nodding as he asked, "Were you there with anyone?"

"Was with _everyone_, mate," Spike grinned, eyes flashing with remembered mischief. "But I reckon you'd say I got there alone."

Writing this down, Angel steeled his voice into professionalism as best he could before asking, "Did you leave alone?"

Spike's cool smirk and sniff of disinterest belied the blush creeping around his neck as he tossed out, "Not as such."

"What does that mean?" Angel asked him, noticing how the blush spread the longer he watched the blonde. "If someone can verify your whereabouts, we could get these charges dropped right away."

"Doubt my alibi will check out under careful scrutiny."

"And why is that?" Angel asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Who wouldn't want to admit to sharing your company?"

"Aw, that's sweet," Spike grinned, chuckling as Angel realized how his words could be taken. "Look, mate. I didn't know who they were when I left with 'em, yeah? Might not be here if I had."

"What are you talking about? Who are _they_?"

"You've got to understand," Spike insisted, holding his hands up defensively, "I was just sittin' there, chattin' up the birds at the bar. Got one in my sights, you know? Filly named Linda, curves all over and a cute smile. But then she makes her excuses to the bathroom, yeah? I figure I've lost her, might as well move on."

"Right," Angel agreed, feeling himself drawn into this story like he had been with so many in the past.

"So, I'm drinkin' my beer, watchin' all the pretty ducks dance, when I catch this bloke staring at me. I figure, what the hell, night's almost over and I need someplace to stay. Might as well go for the easy pull." Spike looked to Angel for some sort of acknowledgment, so Angel nodded, no stranger to his friend's questionable traveling habits.

Nodding in return, Spike continued, dropping his eyes down to his hands on the table, "So, I go talk to the bloke, get him all warmed up. Says his name's Charlie and he's glad I came over. Then, the bint from the bar shows up again, takin' Charlie's arm and I think, 'Oh, fuck. I'm gonna have to defend myself from an angry boyfriend.' But that's not how it goes, _at all_, mate."

"So," Angel asked, pretty sure he understood where this story was headed. "You went home with both of them?"

"Sure did," Spike confessed with a sheepish grin, his blush flaring back to life. "So, see? I've got an alibi. Just don't think young Charles Newhaven is gonna fess up to letting me fuck him and his girl."

"Newhaven?" Angel asked, his voice tight. "As in junior? The governor's son? The ultra-conservative Governor Newhaven who's all about family values?"

"Well, I didn't _know_ that at the time, mate," Spike explained. "Though the empty ocean-side mansion they took me back to should have been a dead giveaway."

"Why," Angel asked, shaking his head in disbelief, "do you always have to get into these things with _socialites_? Can't you just make do with normal people? There's so much less drama that way."

"It's not on purpose," Spike insisted. "Just, habits tend to tell one out, yeah? As far as I try to remove myself from the life, the universe or somethin' just keeps forcing me that way. Or maybe I just get off on the drama," Spike smirked, chuckling at Angel's harsh look.

Sighing, Angel finished writing down Spike's story, asking, "Any idea what Linda's last name was?"

"No idea, mate," Spike shook his head. "But after they pulled me, girl took out this engagement ring with a massive rock and put it back on. Tricky little minx."

"If they're engaged, I'm sure I can find out," Angel decided. "I'm guessing they asked you to keep this quiet?"

"'Asked' is a little too friendly, mate," the blonde groaned, letting his face fall into his hands.

"They threatened you?" Angel brimmed with incredulousness, upset for his friend and how stupid he could be.

"Weren't like that, Ange," Spike insisted. "But there might have been … compensation for keepin' quiet."

"Spike!" Angel scolded, not realizing it was possible to feel more disappointed of the man than he had a few seconds previously.

"Well, I didn't know this was gonna turn into a big thing, now did I? Thought I'd just move on, you know? Head up north for a bit. Heard the bay area's nice this time of year."

"Shit," Angel sighed, going over his notes again. "I'm guessing it was cash, and the cops confiscated the money when they picked you up? Do you know what that's going to look like?"

"Like I'm a no good fuck-up as dear Darla always insists?"

"No, moron," Angel replied, shuffling his papers so he wouldn't hit Spike for being so stupid. "It's gonna look like you got paid to kill this Finn guy. How much did Newhaven give you?"

"Just a couple thou," Spike shrugged.

"For silence over one night?" Angel asked, again in disbelief and anger.

Spike shuffled in his seat and confessed, "Well, it might have been over the next morning, as well. And the rest of the day. And there's probably a hefty tip in there…"

"God," the lawyer groaned, trying not to be too disgusted. "You could have stayed with me. You didn't need to go looking for trouble as a place to sleep."

"Wasn't just looking for a place to hang my hat, mate," Spike insisted, looking Angel in the eye for just a moment. "You're not exactly the company I was looking for."

"I understand that," Angel nodded, having more than a few skeletons in his closet when it came to bedroom indiscretions. "But this? Whoring yourself out? You're better than that, Spike."

"And you'd know this because…"

"I know you," Angel insisted. "Maybe it's been almost a year since I saw you, but I know you're better than _this_." Angrily, Angel lifted up his case file before letting it fall back onto the table heavily.

"And now you're in this shit," the lawyer continued, "because they've got your fingerprints on the murder weapon."

"What soddin' murder weapon?" Spike demanded, fear flashing through his eyes.

"A broken beer bottle, found outside The Bronze, next to the body."

"I sucked down prob'ly seven or eight bottles that night, Angel," Spike insisted. "Anyone could have used one to kill a bloke."

"And that's why this is called circumstantial evidence. It would be much easier to get this case against you dismissed if I could build your alibi."

"I guess you could go ask Charlie for a statement or somethin'."

"Yeah," Angel sighed. "Without substantial proof that you were elsewhere, we'll need both of their statements to get you out of this."

"Sides which," Spike said, one index finger jabbing the tabletop harshly, "had no reason to kill this bloke. What was his name again?"

"Finn," Angel replied. "Riley Finn. Graduate student at UCLA. Also a CI for Vice, or so I'm told."

"Never 'eard of 'im," Spike replied easily.

"Here's a picture," Angel said, holding out one of the papers in his file so Spike could see it. "Recognize him?"

Spike rolled his eyes before taking the paper from Angel's hands, studying it for a moment before whispering, "Fuck."

"What?" Angel asked.

"Got into a bit of a tussle with 'im last time I came through this way. Didn't like me chattin' up his girl."

Angel pursed his lips angrily at this news, growling, "Just how often do you pass through LA without telling me?"

"Not _that_ often, Angelus," Spike scoffed. "Figured you're always busy these days. Didn't need me puttin' a kink in things."

"At least, if I knew you were coming, I could prepare for situations like this," Angel pointed out, letting a little smile creep onto his face to lighten the mood. It worked, because Spike chuckled, a low sound that Angel had always liked hearing, no matter what trouble it usually meant.

"Sorry, love," Spike laughed. "Didn't mean to inconvenience you so."

Angel glanced at his friend, still smiling, but wondering why Spike had called him 'love'. He'd never done that before, usually reserving the pet name for women whose names he couldn't remember. Angel wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"In any case," Angel decided, packing up his papers. "We should let the cops interview you sometime soon. Cooperation is our best bet at this point."

"If you say so," Spike nodded, the humor draining from his eyes as he looked up at Angel trustingly.

"Just don't say anything until I'm in the room with you, okay?" Angel ordered, standing and knocking on the door to call the guard back.

"What, no goodbye kiss?" Spike prodded, smiling at Angel's frown.

"Thought you'd get enough of that from your new roommate," Angel shot back, chuckling at Spike's expense, though the blonde joined him in laughing at the joke as the guard opened the door and moved to unlock Spike's cuffs. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Yeah, alright, Angel," the blonde nodded, a small grin still on his face. "Soon."

* * *

_A/N: I've been out of town at a funeral, so I haven't been doing much posting lately. I figured since I already had this chapter done, I'd post it. The next chapter of Legacy is almost done, so that might be up either Sunday or Monday, depending on internet access and time spent writing._

_In any case, I hope you liked this chapter, and don't forget to review. I could use your help deciding where the story should go. I've got the next chapter and a half pretty much figured, but after that...? Any suggestions would be welcome!_


	4. Diplomacy Difficulties

Of Innocence and Alibis

Chapter 4 - Diplomacy Difficulties

Angel called Harmony on his way to the car, asking her to set up a meeting with Charles Newhaven Junior, which she agreed to readily. He knew she would. Even if she couldn't finish a task, Harmony would take it eagerly, to please him. Angel hated that about her sometimes. He wasn't her fucking father, that she needed his acceptance all the time.

Oh, well. Keeping her was easier than finding someone else.

At least this time, when he got back to the office, Harmony was waiting for him with good news. "Hey, Boss!" she grinned, jumping up from behind her desk to follow Angel into his office. "I made that appointment you wanted."

"Great," he sighed, annoyed by her perkiness. "When is it?"

"In an hour," she proclaimed triumphantly, handing him a slip of paper with a time and an address. Angel glared at Harmony as he snatched the paper, making her ask, "What?"

"I'm supposed to make it out to," he looked down at the address in his hand, scoffing, "Santa Monica in an hour? In traffic?"

"I guess so," Harmony shrugged happily. "It was the only time Charlie could meet."

"Okay," Angel nodded with another sigh. "I'll have to leave right away." He started to hand his notes from that morning over to his assistant so she could retype them, but thought better of it. Harmony would just hand them over to Hamilton as soon as they were finished, and Angel thought maybe he'd edit out the parts about Charlie Newhaven, depending on how this meeting went. Instead, he said, "Harmony? I'm going to need one of the paralegals to work with me tomorrow. Could you request someone well-versed in criminal defense and circumstantial evidence?"

"Sure thing, Boss," Harmony replied, flashing him a flirty smile as she wrote down everything he said verbatim, so she wouldn't forget.

Fifty minutes later, Angel pulled up to the gate of a mansion on the oceanfront, realizing that Spike must have been here that night. He rang at the gate, gave his name and was allowed to drive up to the house, pulling into the circular driveway in front of the front door, which stood almost two stories high and was almost entirely composed of cut glass. Angel would have been impressed, had he not seen extravagances even more ludicrous during his time with Darla.

After parking his car off to one side of the circle, Angel strode up the stairs toward the door, watching as it opened to reveal an older man in a servant's uniform. "Mr. Angelus," the butler nodded, "Mr. Newhaven is expecting you."

"Great," Angel replied, unsure what response was expected of him. "Which way?"

"Follow me, sir," the butler ordered as he closed the door behind Angel, stalking off toward the back of the house without even looking to make sure Angel followed.

Eventually, they reached a sitting room that boasted three enormous picture windows facing out over the ocean. A young man, probably about the same age as Spike, sat on one of the overstuffed cream-colored leather couches, reading the paper and sipping what looked like a glass of liquor. "Mr. Newhaven?" the butler interrupted politely, his voice carefully pitched to be deferential, yet audible. When the man looked up, the butler continued, "Mr. Liam Angelus to see you, sir."

"Ah, good," the man replied, folding his newspaper as he stood. "Thank you, Brian," he dismissed the servant, stepping toward Angel and holding out his hand. He had dark hair, a quarterback's build, and an easy smile, very charismatic and handsome on first impression. No wonder Spike had gotten involved with him. "Mr. Angelus, please come in."

"Thank you, Mr. Newhaven," Angel replied, shaking the man's hand and taking the seat that was offered.

Newhaven offered Angel a drink, but sat down again when he refused. "What can I do for our friends at Wolfram and Hart?"

_Friends?_ Angel thought, with very little surprise. His new firm had their thumbs in all sorts of pies, state government being one of them. But, it meant he had to tread carefully with this man. Pissing off the wrong people could cost him his job very easily.

"Well," Angel began carefully. "We have a bit of a situation. I'm representing an acquaintance of yours in a criminal case, and we need you to provide an alibi."

"Happy to help," Newhaven replied with a smile. "What acquaintance are we talking about? It isn't Ephraim Gilby, is it? I told that guy to watch his back, that SEC agents were into all his business lately, but I guess he didn't listen to me, did he?" The man chuckled haughtily and took another sip of his drink.

"I'm afraid it's not Gilby, Mr. Newhaven" Angel shook his head.

"Please!" Newhaven broke in with a wide grin. "Call me Charlie, Mr. Angelus. I insist."

Smiling because he couldn't help it, Angel nodded, replying, "Then I insist you call me Angel. All my friends do."

"Angel!" Charlie replied with a sharp, kind laugh. "Of course!"

"The acquaintance I'm representing in this case," Angel continued, meeting Charlie's eyes to make sure he had the man's full attention, "Is William Stewart."

"Who?"

"You might know him better as Spike," Angel clarified, watching as a shadow crossed over the younger Newhaven's face. Before he could get upset, Angel continued, "My client filled me in on your desire to keep Saturday night's events private, but he's been implicated in a homicide that occurred during the hours he spent with you. Anything you could give us to corroborate his story would be greatly appreciated."

"I'm sorry, Angel," Charlie replied, his face a cold mask, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Okay," Angel said carefully, trying not to growl at the man. "If it's an issue of the money paid, we can get that back to you, no problem."

"The issue _is_," he shot back, "that I have no knowledge of the events you're asking me about."

"Of course not," Angel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing all of his energy into holding on to the last shreds of diplomacy. "I can see why you wouldn't want your association with someone like Mr. Stewart brought into the public eye. But, he is a member of the New York Stewart family, son of the late Mr. Gilchrist Stewart, of Stewart and Birchman Investments. Spike might have been here on a simple social call, since you would be expected to run in the same circles."

"I'm sorry Angel," Charlie replied, his face still unreadable, "but I can't help your client. You'll have to find another solution to your problem."

"Alright," Angel replied, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. "But if you change your mind, or think of another solution to this dilemma, be sure to call me." He stood and took one business card from his wallet, handing it to the man.

"I'll do that," Charlie replied, standing in kind and motioning for Angel to precede him from the room and toward the front door.

When they got there, Angel turned and said, "As one last thought, I'd like to remind you that while Spike's status may not be what it once was, he still has certain friends in high places. If he has nothing left to lose and goes public, there might be more than a few big-wigs that will believe his word over yours. Our firm would really love to prevent such an outcome, given our close association with your father especially. However, we cannot always control our clients…"

"Christ," Charlie swore, giving Angel a hard look and keeping eye contact for a long, long moment. "You find me someone on the police force that I can trust, I don't care how, and I'll see what I can come up with. That's the best I can do right now."

"That's all I ask," Angel insisted, relieved beyond belief as Charlie opened the door to show him out. "I'll be in touch, Mr. Newhaven."

"Mr. Angelus," Charlie nodded once before closing the door behind Angel, obviously upset by Angel's threats. Well, Angel guessed he didn't get recruited by Wolfram and Hart by having a reputation for shying away from what needed to be done.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Detective Kate Lockley called Angel at his office, requesting his presence for Spike's interrogation. Finally. Maybe, even without Newhaven's cooperation, they could get her to drop the case against him and move onto whoever had actually done the crime.

Heading to the county penitentiary twice in one day, Angel met the Detective just outside the same interview room he'd used that morning, when talking to Spike. The police woman was about Angel's age, early thirties, he would guess, and blonde. Aggressively blonde, like she knew the color didn't do her any favors in her career, but she was proud of it anyway. They introduced themselves and shook hands before Lockley asked, "How long have you been Mr. Stewart's attorney?"

Angel chuckled at the question, answering, "Since he got arrested the day after I passed the bar and decided to call his old pal Angel for some help."

"I see," she nodded, her mouth frowning, but her eyes wrinkling at the corners as if she were smiling. Opening the door, Detective Lockley said, "After you."

Angel entered the room, nodding to Spike and taking the chair beside him. When Lockley turned to close the door behind her, Spike raised one eyebrow at Angel, his eyes flicking toward the woman, implying that Angel was interested in her.

"What?" Angel asked in a harsh whisper. "No!"

"'f you say so, mate," Spike shrugged, turning his most charming smile at the policewoman. "'ello there, love. How can I 'elp you today?"

"You can lay off the pet names first of all," Lockley replied, sitting down and studying the case file in her hands instead of looking at either man. When she finally did look up, Angel felt like he was here under interrogation too, instead of just representing Spike. "And second, you can answer my questions truthfully."

"I'll give it a go," Spike agreed, leaning forward in his chair to watch the woman, tilting his head a few degrees in curiosity.

"Great," Lockley nodded, shuffling her papers again before pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. "Is your name William Pritchard Steward?"

"Sure is, lov–Detective, though you can call me Spike."

"Just what I always wanted," the woman muttered under her breath. Sitting up straighter and looking Spike straight in the eye, she asked him, "Did you patronize an establishment known as The Bronze on Saturday the fourth, Spike?"

Looking for Angel's nod before he spoke, the blonde replied, "Yeah, I was there."

"During what hours?"

"Not sure what times exactly," Spike answered, "but I remember paying the bartender an exorbitant fee 'round closing time. Must have been there quite awhile to rack up such a charge, but this is LA, so you never know."

"Were there any other people in your party?"

"Well, I don't know how much I can say," Spike told her, looking to Angel for some help. "I certainly got there alone."

"But you didn't leave alone?"

Angel broke in, putting his hand on Spike's arm, near the elbow, and saying, "Spike's acquaintances wish to remain as anonymous as possible during this investigation. I've been given the authority to negotiate a deal between the individuals in question to reveal that they were with Mr. Stewart after leaving the establishment. However, I must have assurances that the identities of these parties will be kept confidential, even if this goes to trial."

"Sucks for you," the detective shrugged dispassionately, "because I'm making no such assurances. When I run a case, everything gets put out in the open. No special treatment for anyone."

Pressing down a flare of disappointed frustration, Angel vowed to go as far over her head as he could before saying, "Why don't you to write down, for now, that Spike has an alibi, but we can't verify the identities of his companions at the moment? Surely you'll want to keep this case open, keep looking for suspects? You'll want to make sure you find the person who actually did this crime," Angel pointed out, finding himself oddly impressed by the woman's black-and-white, warrior-for-justice attitude, despite the headaches it could cause in the long run.

Lockley nodded, "That's what we're here for, Mr. Angelus. Now, Mr. Stewart?" She turned her appraising gaze on Spike, who regarded her coolly, his head still tilted as if to watch her better. God damn attitude. Angel would have to tell Spike a thing or two about how best to speak to the police if one wanted to go free. Acting like a supercilious prick wasn't really the preferred strategy.

Pulling a picture from her file and sliding it over to Spike, Lockley asked, "Do you know this man, Mr. Riley Finn?"

Spike again let his eyes roll over toward Angel, asking for permission to speak, which Angel gave. "Didn't know his name until this morning, kitten," Spike drawled, earning a kick under the table from Angel. "Sorry, _Detective_," Spike apologized and sat up straighter, giving Angel an angry glare. "But yeah, we've interacted before."

"What was the nature of your interaction?"

"Well," Spike nodded to the policewoman, picking up the picture from the table to get a better look at it, "Few months back, I was in town, and I met this firecracker of a girl at a bar. Talked to her all night, yeah? Thought we really made a connection. Turns out this bloke," he shook the picture in his hand, "was her boyfriend. Had it out after me 'round closing time for making a move on his lady. Each of us got a few blows in, we called a truce and there you have it. I let him have the girl, he let me have my pretty face. All's well with the world."

"Except now he's dead," the detective pointed out, snatching the picture from Spike's fingers and shuffling it back into her stack. "What was the woman's name?"

"Somethin' weird," Spike replied, looking to Angel for help, though he had no who Riley's girlfriend was. At Angel 's blank look, Spike shrugged, "Dunno. Got the impression they'd been serious for a while, and she was gettin' bored of him."

"Buffy Summers?" the woman read from her file, looking up to Spike with those intense blue eyes that demanded answers. Angel realized a little too late that he'd been studying her eyes far too long when she caught him at it, giving him a quick, disapproving look.

For safety's sake, Angel turned his eyes to his client, who was answering, "Yeah, that might have been her name. If you gave me a picture or her bra size, I might be able to give a better confirmation."

Angel kicked Spike under the table again for that comment. Angel knew his friend could be much more charming, and guessed it was his rebellious streak working against them here. Even if Kate was a pretty woman, she was The Law first, and Spike couldn't help but try to push her buttons.

"Alright," Lockley nodded, writing down Spike's response. "Now when did this altercation happen?"

"Uh…" Spike muttered, looking up at the ceiling and then over at Angel. "D'you know when Manchester United lost that bloody game to Arsenal?"

"Sorry," Angel shook his head. "Don't follow soccer when you're not around."

"Git," Spike muttered. "Fair weather fan."

"Six weeks ago," Detective Lockley spoke up. "Sudden death loss in overtime."

"Oh, soddin' hell!" Spike exclaimed with an excited glimmer in his eye. "You follow football, Detective?"

"I," she said, clearing her head and focusing her eyes on the paper in front of her. "I played in college."

"Alright, Detective!" Spike grinned, his smile wide and his eyes impressed. "So, the tussle with Mr. Home-grown must've happened later that week, 'cause I remember arguing with this one fella who was with the chit about how Manchester was robbed."

"Do you have a name for this 'fella'? Or will I have to give you _his _measurements?" Kate asked blithely, jabbing back at Spike in a way that almost had Angel chuckling at his client's expense. Damn it, he always felt that mask of professionalism slipping away from him whenever Spike was in the room.

"Nope," the blonde man shook his head. "Was kinda a gangly, geeky bloke. Not my type, so I didn't ask for any names. Though he was definitely friends with Finn's girl. Was givin' me the evil eye all night."

"Okay," Lockley nodded, writing this down. "And when was the last time you saw Mr. Finn?"

"That night six weeks ago," Spike insisted, catching Angel's eye with a look that said he was quickly running out of patience watching his tongue like this. To bolster up his friend, Angel patted him on the back of the shoulder with a heavy, understanding hand. If Angel was having trouble hanging onto the demeanor he'd carefully cultivated as a lawyer, Spike was almost dying of the effort to stay polite. Spike had lived under the rules of decorum dictated by his parents for so long, that when they split and he'd moved to the States with Darla and their father, he couldn't help but throw them all out the window, part and parcel. And Angel could tell that the blonde wasn't enjoying bringing them back now.

"Did you know that Mr. Finn worked with this Police Department?" the detective asked next, her look so harsh, that Angel could almost feel the air crackle as Spike lost it.

"Oi!" he yelled, trying to stand up despite the way he was chained to the table and the floor. "It's not my fucking problem that you've lost your little All-American soldier boy. Bloody hell!" he yelled, despite Angel's heavy hand, pushing him back into his seat and the detective's hand hovering over the gun at her hip. "All I did was have a motherfuckin' drink and you're comin' down on me like the bloody Spanish Inquisition. I didn't know and I really don't care if that git was one of yours. I didn't do it!"

Angel managed to get Spike under control, shoving him roughly down into his seat and keeping a heavy hand on one of Spike's shoulders to keep him there. "Are you done?" Angel asked, and he wasn't sure which blonde he was addressing.

"We're done," Detective Lockley agreed, her voice hard-edged as she gathered her things and left the room. Angel gave his friend one more harsh look, which earned him a crude two-fingered salute, and followed the policewoman from the room.

"I'm sorry about that," Angel insisted, hurrying to get in front of Lockley so she would have to look at him. "But you have to know he didn't do it."

"I know your client has a history of violent behavior," the Detective replied, brushing past Angel, without giving him the impression that he'd been dismissed.

So, Angel followed her, saying, "He's gotten into quite a few bar fights, but that's not the same as _killing _someone. He just likes a fist-fight now and again. Besides, he wasn't even there when it happened."

Stopping and turning so quickly that Angel almost ran into the detective, Lockley asked, "Why the hell can't Mr. Stewart tell me who he was with that night?"

"It's politically sensitive," Angel replied as carefully as he could, noticing how close to the woman he'd stopped and backing up to meet her eyes more easily.

"_Politically Sensitive_?" she scoffed. "God, you Wolfram and Hart Lawyers are all the same."

"Hey," Angel said, as she turned again to leave, "if I could tell you without losing my job, I would. Hell, if I could tell you without losing your job, I would do that too."

"Oh, now it's _my_ _job_ on the line too, huh, buddy?" Lockley asked, and Angel almost smiled at the indignant way she said it.

"Hey, I don't make the rules," Angel insisted, giving her a little smile as she turned again to give him what for.

Taking a breath, Lockley pointed her finger at him and asked, "It's an actual politician, isn't it? One of the big wigs who sees I get paid?"

"Hey, privilege," Angel called, holding up his hands defensively. "But I will tell you it could be career suicide if you pursue this. Why don't you just start looking for the true killer?"

"Because," the detective replied, giving Angel a calculating look, "my boss won't let me move on until I prove that Stewart didn't do this. He's an ass that way."

Angel chuckled, and after a second, Lockley joined him.

"Alright," the woman nodded, those contemplative and really very pretty eyes never leaving Angel's. "I'll make you a deal, Mr. Angelus. You get Spike to tell me his alibi's name, and I'll start looking around for other suspects."

"Deal," Angel nodded, though he realized after the word left his mouth that he was probably making a big mistake. He had no assurances that Detective Kate Lockley was a woman of her word, or a woman of discretion, but he had a good feeling about her.

* * *

_A/N: As you can probably tell, everything I know about police proceedings and soccer, I learned from TV. _

_Please, leave a review and let me know if I've gotten anything wrong. Or, just to let me know you're still reading._

_Also, thanks for the suggestions from last chapter, guys. They definitely helped me get a better sense of where this story might be heading. Feel free to do so again, if you feel so inclined.  
_


	5. Acceleration

_A/N: I've posted a heafty 410K words total with this chapter! Go me!_

* * *

**Of Innocence and Alibis**

Chapter 5 - Acceleration

Darla's bail money posted the next day, so Angel picked Spike up from jail first thing in the morning, waiting while his friend collected his things from the guard, everything stuffed into a sad manila envelope. "Oi, Angel," Spike greeted him with a sharp nod, digging through his things and replacing them one at a time in their proper pockets as they walked together. "Thanks for comin', mate."

"Sure," Angel nodded, leading the way toward the parking lot and trying not to notice how defeated his friend looked. "You'll come stay with me, okay, Spike? Just for now, until we get this whole thing cleared up."

"Whatever you say, Angel," Spike nodded, flicking a silver lighter at the cigarette hanging from the edge of his mouth.

"When have you ever said, 'whatever you say,' to me, Spike?" Angel asked, smacking the blonde on the back, concerned about him. "You're supposed to tell me to sod off and then convince me to go drinking with you."

"I can if you want," Spike growled, taking the passenger side of Angel's car and slumping down into the seat heavily. "But I'm not really in the mood, yeah?"

"Okay," Angel replied wearily, getting in and starting the engine, rolling down Spike's window so the smoke wouldn't pollute his car more than necessary. "We've got a few errands to run before I can take you home so you can get cleaned up. Alright?"

"Sure," Spike nodded, tapping the ash from his cigarette as they drove away and staring off into the distance.

Angel hated this attitude, mostly because he didn't understand it. Did something happen? Would Spike resent it if Angel asked? He was usually pretty forthcoming about … well, about _everything_. After at least ten minutes of silence, Angel broke, which was unusual for him, since generally he couldn't get enough silence. "Spike," he growled, pulling over and glaring at his friend. "What is it? What's going on?"

"Listen, mate," Spike sighed, fishing out and lighting another cigarette, "I'm thinkin' we have to find a way around this whole alibi bugaboo."

"Why? If it keeps you from being charged with murder, we'll drag the whole ugly business out into the light."

"No, but Ange," Spike huffed, turning in his chair to face Angel, "I don't want that! I mean …" He snorted, chuckling ruefully, "Da always told me there were consequences to my actions."

"Yeah," Angel agreed. "But these are the wrong consequences. Taking the blame for something you didn't do?"

"If this comes out," Spike replied, pointing one finger at Angel before taking another trembling drag on his cigarette, "sure the prick in the big wig will look bad, but guess what else, love? I'll look even worse, which means Darla looks bad, my Da's company looks bad, and Mother as well. And you, you ponce! You'll lose your cushy job over this!"

Confused, Angel faced forward, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "None of those things mattered to you before."

"Maybe," Spike muttered, turning to face out his window. "Maybe I've been shown the light, Angel. Maybe they matter now."

Angel furrowed his brow and stared at what he could see of the side of Spike's face. None of this made any sense. Spike's personality didn't just turn off and on like this. Unless, the two days he'd spent locked up had taken him right into the middle of withdrawal from something. "Have you been using drugs?" he asked all of a sudden.

"What?" Spike shot back, turning back to meet Angel's eyes furiously. "Unless alcohol and fucking count as drugs, which maybe they should, then no! Why the bloody hell would you ask me that?"

"It's the only thing that made sense!" Angel shouted back. "I've never seen you so fucking depressed, so I figured you were coming down off something!"

Angel and Spike stared at one another for at least ten seconds before the blonde broke out into a fit of low chuckles. "You're a soddin' piece of work, you know that Angelus?" he crowed, covering his eyes with one hand and shaking his shoulders with laughter.

Though still confused, Angel laughed along quietly with his friend, glad he was acting more like his old self. As he pulled back onto the road, the lawyer came to the conclusion that something else must have happened while Spike was locked up. But, he figured if he wanted an honest answer, instead of a teasing response, he'd do better to ask Spike later

* * *

"I am not letting you dress me in something that poncey, Angel." Spike cried, dubiously eyeing the slacks and dress shirt Angel held up for his friend.

"You have to wear something," Angel pointed out angrily, sick of shopping with this man after only ten minutes. "And you're twenty-five years old, Spike. I'm not buying you a shirt that says, 'Bite Me'."

"I don't need clothes, Ange. I have plenty."

"Just," Angel sighed, exasperated with his friend's stubbornness, "take them, Spike. You need more than two changes of clothes if you're staying at my house. I don't want you stinking up the place."

"Prissy, fat-headed ponce," Spike muttered, snatching the clothes from Angel's hand and stalking over to the fitting rooms. Angel followed slowly, giving his friend some time and space to cool down. This really had to be done, especially if there were going to be any pre-trial proceedings. Angel didn't know of any judges in this district who wouldn't be swayed by a clean-cut appearance, and if that could end this headache sooner rather than later, so much the better.

Spike gave Angel one last scowling glance before picking a room and shutting the door behind him, leaving Angel to slump down into one of the waiting chairs. "I'm not paying you back for these, mate," Spike called through the wooden ventilation slats of the door between them.

"I'm not asking you to," Angel replied. Spike had always been weird about money. He didn't hesitate to ask Angel to represent him without compensation time and time again. He didn't mind when Angel paid the bar tab or took them out to eat. But Spike did mind when Angel wanted to loan him money or wanted to buy him things like this. It hadn't happened very often, but Angel knew nonetheless that this shopping ordeal was going to grow even more taxing before they were done.

"Hey, love?" Spike called out again. "How the bloody hell does this thing work?"

"What thing?" Angel asked, sitting forward in his seat and trying to ignore the way his friend addressed him. "It's just pants and shirts, Spike. I'm pretty sure you know -"

Angel cut himself off when Spike opened the door, still wearing his own jeans with one of the shirts Angel had picked out, open from collar to waist. Spike's chest was an expanse of pale flesh, much more defined than the last summer they'd spent together. Since the last time Angel had seen Spike with his shirt off. And now, Christ, Angel couldn't help but look. And then imagine what it would taste like running his tongue down...

"Ange?"

"What?" Angel replied, tearing his eyes upwards, towards his friend's face. Where they belonged. And no other thoughts belonged. Just Spike's face, and that was it.

"I asked you how this collar works. It's all tacked down. What if I wanted to wear a tie?"

Angel laughed, trying to squelch his sudden nervousness. "When have you ever wanted to wear a tie?"

"Well, I'll have to if you're gonna take me out for lunch, won't I? I'm starving. And if you're buyin' me these new clothes that I don't want, we might as well justify the expense, yeah?"

"By adding on further expense by eating somewhere with a dress code?"

Spike shrugged before flicking his eyes down toward his collar. "So? How does it work?"

Stepping closer so he could get a better look, Angel lifted one edge of Spike's collar. "There's a little button under here," he told Spike, undoing the fastened edge and concentrating on hoping Spike couldn't hear how loud his heart was beating.

"Oh!" Spike grinned, his eyes faltering for a second when they met Angel's. But then, Spike's smile reformed as he stood in front of the mirror in his dressing room, undoing the other side and flipping up his collar. Suddenly, the blonde assumed a "Rock and Roll pose" complete with punk sneer and air guitar and Angel felt himself laughing in response, the tension between them broken.

"Go get me a tie and a jacket, yeah?" Spike ordered, standing straight again and sniffing at his reflection in the mirror as he started doing up the buttons of his shirt.

"Fine," Angel agreed, glad his friend seemed to be happier than he was earlier in the car. A depressed Spike was just ... wrong.

Angel managed to get a few steps away before Spike called out again, "And some knickers! Unless you fancy me tryin' on all these slacks in my current state."

Angel halted in his tracks and tilted his head, trying to focus on what he needed to from that sentence while ignoring the rest. It was just Spike being gross, and nothing else. Nothing else, whatsoever.

* * *

As they sat down at a table on the main floor of Café Henri, Spike asked Angel, "D'you think this counts as a business expense?"

"Well," Angel replied, taking his menu from the hostess, "since you're not paying me, I doubt it."

"I said I could get money this time," Spike replied, frowning down at his plate. "And I will."

"How?" Angel asked. "Darla's not giving you any more money. And don't even think about asking your mother. Her position is precarious enough as it is." Looking around, he continued, "And why are we seated at a table for four?"

"Spike?" A young woman called out, waving excitedly from the waiting area. The first thing Angel noticed about her was how wide her smile was, full of pearly white teeth. She had dark hair and tan skin and makeup that made her eyes look huge, while the dress she wore was yellow-gold and very fashionable, showing off her chest tastefully. And then, the last thing Angel noticed about the woman was the weedy man in glasses following her. "Spike!"

Standing up to greet them, the blonde cleared his throat and said, "Hullo, Cordelia," with a polite nod of his head. Angel felt his eyebrows rise up in surprise, catching his friend's eyes in a silent question of, "What the hell is going on?"

"This here's Liam Angelus," Spike pressed on, introducing him to the bubbly brunette.

"Uh, hi," Angel muttered, shaking the woman's hand and sighing as she took the seat next to him. "You can call me Angel."

"Ooh, boy!" Cordelia smiled, sitting down with her elbows on the table, hands cradling her jaw as she looked up at him. "If I hadn't heard Will talk about you from time to time, big guy, I would be sure that was some lame-ass pickup line."

Sitting down, and shooting an angry glance over at Spike, Angel assured her, "It wasn't."

The other newcomer, still standing, cleared his throat, drawing Cordelia's attention so she cried, "Oh! This is Wesley Wyndam-Price, my attorney."

"Nice to meet you gents," the man said with an over-eager smile and enthusiastic handshakes for both of them as he sat. "William? And Angel, was it?"

Angel nodded and sent another angry look toward his friend, which finally got Spike to open his mouth and explain. "While we were shoppin' for the duds, Ange, Cordy here called me 'cause she was town. Thought I'd invite the step-mum for lunch, catch up a bit, you know?"

"Yeah," Angel replied slowly, eyeing the woman and her lawyer again. "Do they know your big news?" he asked Spike.

"What?" Cordelia asked, matter-of-factly. "That poor Spikey here's on trial for a homicide? We know all about it, don't we, Wes?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," the British attorney replied, pulling a file folder from his briefcase. "Why, I've got the case file right here. Damn tight spot you're in, my friend."

Completely flabbergasted, Angel asked him, "Are you taking over?" Spike didn't want Angel representing him anymore? He didn't want Angel because he couldn't pay, and this idiot was the one Ms. Trophy Wife picked out? What the fuck?

"No, no, nothing like that," the other man assured him with a smile. "I'm simply here in an advisory capacity, since I am not licensed in California."

"God, I missed it here," Cordelia blurted out all of a sudden, her eyes out the windows, watching the people walk by. "I'm a creature of the sun, by nature, you know."

"Is that so?" Spike asked her with a smile and Angel couldn't believe they'd changed the subject on him. "Tired of livin' in cloudy ol' New York?"

"Ha!" Cordelia replied, turning back to the men at the table and setting a hand on Angel's upper arm as she took a breath to speak. "At least your father didn't drag me back to 'merry England' like he promised once or twice! I think I would have _died_!"

"It's not that bad…" Wyndam-Pryce muttered under his breath, still shuffling through the papers in his hands, as if he needed something to do so he wouldn't have to join in the small talk.

"Can we get back –" Angel started, when suddenly, a man called out across the room.

"Angelus? Is that you?"

Turning, Angel saw a dark-haired man, lean and in his mid thirties, stand up from a table across the way and stride over, holding out his hand. Angel shook it reluctantly and stood to greet the newcomer. Of all the people to show up just then it had to be, "Gary! It's good to see you!"

"You too, Angel," the man replied with a grin as they shook hands. "It's been awhile since our last project, hasn't it? I know Liddy has missed seeing you around the house lately."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Angel replied, clenching his jaw and trying not to give away the fact that this project of Gary's had nothing to do with his occupation. "I guess I just got busy with other things."

"Of course!" Gary replied, his eyes flicking up and down Angel's body once, very quickly. "Hey, I've got a new project you might be interested in. Would you mind if I stole you away for a few minutes to discuss it?"

Angel huffed, caught between seeming rude because he left his party and rude because Gary had asked to talk to him so deftly. Eventually, Cordelia waved him on and said, "Pft, go ahead. Take a few minutes. We'll order you something interesting."

"Thanks," he said, rolling his eyes at Spike before gesturing for Gary to lead the way from the restaurant. Once outside, Angel turned an annoyed glare at his companion. "Really? We couldn't just talk about this later over the phone?"

"You won't take my calls anymore," Gary complained, reaching out to touch Angel's arm before he flinched away.

"Yeah," Angel growled, turning and pacing away a few steps before coming back. "I wonder why that is?"

"She doesn't have to know…"

"Gary!" the lawyer scolded. "She's your wife and I'm not doing anything she doesn't know about in advance. I don't do the whole cheating _thing_."

"Shit, Angel," the man complained. "It's not that big a deal!"

"It is when Liddy said she was done, that she didn't want me coming over anymore. If she's out, then I'm out, Gary. It's as simple as that." No matter how much he really needed to get laid so he would stop lusting after people who were completely inappropriate targets, Angel wouldn't hurt Liddy, or anyone, like that. Not after what Darla did to him.

"But –"

"I don't fucking have time for this. Do me a favor would you?" Angel asked, grabbing the door handle that led back into the restaurant. "Don't talk to me again. Find someone else, because I'm done!"

Angel tried to school his face into something other than the severe annoyance he felt for having to deal with that guy again. Usually couples were so easy. Just one night here and there, no strings. Problem was, Angel didn't realize until a few nights in that Gary wasn't interested in his wife anymore, if he even had been in the first place. And Angel wanted nothing to do with that keg of powder when it finally went off.

When Angel rejoined the table, he grabbed Spike's whiskey and took a big gulp, setting the empty glass down in front of his friend and saying, "Thanks."

"Project not something you wanna get into, mate?" Spike asked, eyeing his empty glass and waving to one of the waiters.

"Sorry about that. Guy won't take a hint," Angel said, explaining, "Consultation, you know. Not really allowed by my firm."

"Which is?" Wesley asked, peering at Angel over his tea as he sipped it.

"Wolfram and Hart," Angel replied. "And while we're on the subject, just what the hell is going on here?"

Cordelia smiled that thousand-watt smile again and patted the back of Angel's hand, saying, "Well! Spike gave me a call yesterday, to ask if I could help with his attorney fees. I said of course, but you have to understand, I don't know you, Angel. I have to make sure my money is going somewhere worthwhile. Hence," she made a Vanna White-type gesture to present, "Wesley!"

"And you think he's…"

"He's gonna help," Cordelia insisted, and Angel wanted to argue, but something about this woman's tone or voice or mouth made it difficult to get a word in edge-wise. Which made it difficult to point out that he did, in fact, know what the hell he was doing.

* * *

When Angel and Spike pulled into the parking garage below Angel's apartment building, the blonde finally broke the silence they'd found themselves in after leaving the restaurant. "Sorry about that, mate. I'd forgotten how much that bint likes to hear her chin wag."

"Seriously?" Angel asked, pulling into his spot, number eighteen. "How could someone ever forget that? And the babysitter? God, Spike! If anyone else pulled this shit on me, I'd be out the door in a heartbeat. It's a good thing for you we're practically family. "

Angel put the car in park and as he got out, he thought he heard Spike mutter, "Not nearly," but when he looked back, the blonde was turned away, getting out his own door.

"Ange?" Spike asked on the way to the elevator, and Angel turned back to look at his friend, but something else caught his eye.

A dark figure slipped up behind Spike, a small knife flashing in the orange garage lighting. "Behind you!" Angel cried, adrenaline surging all of a sudden at the attack, making his heart pound viciously and his lunch want to acquaint itself with the floor.

Luckily, Angel's warning came in time, and Spike was able to dodge the blade by twisting his hips just so the weapon missed its mark."Bloody hell!" he cried, dodging another attack and then punching the mystery man in the face. The man staggered very briefly before resuming his attack, but by that time, Angel had gotten close enough to do something. He grabbed the man's knife hand with his left hand, holding that arm down tightly while Angel's right fist came down hard on the man's cheek.

"Ha!" Spike crowed as the man staggered again, kicking at the back of one of the guy's knees so he went down, Angel still holding a tight grip on his knife hand.

"Get the knife!" Angel cried to his friend, hitting the attacker in the head again with his free hand, dodging the rest of the flailing limbs as best he could.

Less carefully than Angel would have liked, Spike pried the man's fingers apart, taking the blade away while Angel hit the man again and again, every time he tried to retaliate. But then, the blonde surprised Angel by grabbing his attacker's hair and pressing the knife against the man's neck. He stilled immediately and Angel grew worried at the predatory look in his friend's eye.

"What did you think, mate?" Spike asked with a snarling chuckle. "You sneak up on me, stab me in the back, and we're just gonna let you get away?"

"Do you know him?" Angel asked, still holding on tightly to that one arm and trying to take in what the guy looked like so he could identify him later if necessary. He had scraggly-curly light brown hair, which was receding from his forehead, and a very straight nose, with a little bulb on the end. Sunken cheekbones, but strong chin. Eyes more furious than afraid.

"'Fraid I don't, love," Spike replied, tugging at the guy's hair again. "So?" he asked the man kneeling between him and Angel. "What say you, bad boy? What's the game here?"

"I just –" the man stuttered, and Angel frowned as deeply as he'd ever in his life when he say a tiny drop of blood escaping the skin under the knife. "I just hit who they tell me to."

"Jesus Christ, Spike," Angel breathed, meeting his friend's blue eyes with his own. "Who would put a hit out on you? Don't tell me you went to Vegas again."

"How do we know he wasn't after you? I'm sure you've plenty of old clients who you couldn't spare from some time in the Big House. Besides, bookies don't get you stabbed…"

"Dead men don't pay out," Angel agreed, twisting the man's arm just a little bit farther. "So," he asked the stranger, "who were you after?"

"Fuck you," he growled, spitting near Angel's shoes and the lawyer saw his friend take a deep breath as if he was about to do something drastic, so the lawyer punched the man once more, rendering him unconscious and thus, no longer a threat whose throat Spike looked like he might cut if he got agitated enough.

Letting the body fall on one side, and the knife fall on the other, Spike looked up at Angel, their eyes meeting for a long time before Spike breathed out, "Bloody fuckin' hell. How'd you know how to do that?"

* * *

_A/N: Yay! Another chapter completed. Let me know what you thought, please! Reviews keep me writing, you know..._

_Also, if you haven't yet, be sure to check out my Spangel series (more info on my Profile page). This weekend, I started posting a Connor-centric future fic in that universe called "No One Can Walk Alone" and I hope you go check that out!_

_Thanks, everyone, for reading and for all the reviews!  
_


	6. No Funny Business

_A/N: At the top, I want to say many thanks to my beta, Hortense, for her timely and self-sacrificing work as a sounding board and proofreader. _

* * *

**Of Innocence and Alibis **

Chapter 6 – No Funny Business

Keeping one wary eye on the hit man at his feet, Angel pulled his phone out of his suit coat pocket and dialed.

"Who're you calling, Ange?" Spike asked, tilting his head as he watched the man at their feet breathe shallowly in unconsciousness.

"The police," Angel replied, knowing Spike wouldn't be keen on the idea.

"What for?" he asked angrily, just as Angel had predicted. "Seems like I'm in enough trouble already, doesn't it?"

"You'll be in even more trouble if I don't call right away and the cops get a hold of the security footage," the lawyer told his friend, pointing at a camera near the elevator. "Trust me on this, Will. I know how the system works."

"Aye," Spike replied crossly. "'s why I called you, innit it?"

Angel spoke to the emergency operator briefly, telling her about the attack and that they would need a squad car, but no ambulance, thank you. While they waited for the police to show, Angel untied both of his loafers and used the lacing to tie the hit man's arms behind his back. "Don't need him getting away," he explained, trying to ignore the curious look on Spike's face.

But finally when Angel stood up, the blonde looked just about bursting with the need to say something. "How, pet?" he asked, nudging the man on the ground with his boot. "How did you know how to do this, then? The fighting, I mean. Last I remember you were okay in a bar fight, but nothin' like _that_."

Angel sighed and watched Spike's face for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell his friend. Finally, he settled on, "After Darla ... there was a long time when I just needed to hit someone. Took up kickboxing so I wouldn't murder my boss."

Spike laughed shortly, his face splitting into a grin, "No shit?"

"Yeah," Angel agreed, keeping his eyes with the blonde and wondering why he couldn't look away. Then, he remembered, "What was with the knife at the guy's throat? I thought for a second you might actually use it."

Spike looked down at the ground, his hands finding his coat pockets and burying themselves there. Speaking softly, he confessed, "I thought I might, too."

Angel looked at his friend for a long time, trying to see the boy who used to be there, underneath this rough man he'd become. He was there, Angel knew it, but recent circumstances had him burying it away. Angel knew it was probably for the best, but he missed who Spike used to be, before he started making deals with the devil for a few thousand dollars and holding knives to people's throats.

"What?" Spike asked him finally, and Angel blinked, suddenly very aware that he'd been staring for far too long.

"Nothing," the lawyer replied, sighing and wondering when the cops would show up.

* * *

Two hours later, Angel and Spike were still in the parking garage, leaning against a squad car and waiting for a detective, according to the other cops. At least the hit man had been driven away in a cop car and neither one of them had been. Though one of the first cops on the scene had run Spike's name through her computer and tried to arrest him, Angel pointed out that everything either one of them had done was in self defense and when he proved that in court, they could sue the city for wrongful arrest.

"That was a nice bit of bull you fed that chit," Spike murmured to Angel a few minutes later, so the cop supervising them wouldn't hear.

"It wasn't bull," Angel told the blonde. "I would sue if they tried to arrest you now. We were within our rights to defend ourselves."

Spike scoffed, "Sure thing, mate. Though, you've got a more optimistic view of the system than I do. Probably helps you've never been in the lockup."

"I've spent the night before," Angel confessed. "For public drunkenness during law school."

"Yeah?" Spike asked with a disbelieving smile, one eyebrow quirking up. "Bet they let you go in the morning, though didn't they?"

Angel nodded, knowing that spending a few hours in the precinct sleeping off an ill-advised bender was nothing like what Spike had been through in the past few days. And it couldn't have been those three weeks Spike had to spend in Arizona for assault. Yep, Angel had no clue what Spike had been through, and he was sure he didn't want to know.

"So forgive me, luv," Spike concluded, whispering in Angel's ear in a way that made him shiver and sent goosebumps down one side of his body, "if I don't have the faith you do."

Angel shrugged Spike away and took a deep, calming breath. Turning his head, he caught the blonde's eyes, searching them for a moment before asking, "What happened last night? To get you so spooked?"

"Who says I was?" Spike spat. "Nothin' happened, Ange."

He tried to turn away, but Angel caught his wrist, pulling him closer and hissing, "Bullshit. Something had to have happened. Yesterday this was no big deal, and then this morning everything was about reputations and honor and going to jail for something you _didn't fucking do_."

Spike yanked his wrist from Angel's grasp, but kept his face just inches away from the lawyer's. "Maybe somethin' did happen," the blonde growled. "Maybe someone did come and '_talk_' to me last night at supper. Maybe I got an earful about what could happen to someone like Darla if her brother didn't behave himself. Maybe I had to break the wanker's hand and his nose and knock out three of his teeth to make sure he didn't cement that message with a nastier one. Maybe I don't like the fact that tossers with knives are comin' after me in broad daylight now."

"Fuck," Angel sighed, finally understanding what Spike had been through. Knowing he needed to be the strong one here, Angel squeezed one of his friend's shoulders and said, "We'll make sure Darla's protected. We'll get the proof we need, Will. I'll get everything settled before we tell the cops what we know. Detective Lockley says that as soon as you give her your alibi, she can start looking for other suspects. And once those suspects are caught, then we'll worry about any further repercussions."

"Oh, goody, Liam," Spike muttered ruefully, standing stock-still under Angel's hand. "Just get all our ducks in a row and I'll be all set. Let's hope I make it that far." Then he nodded over Angel's shoulder and the lawyer turned to see Detective Kate Lockley striding directly for them.

"Can't you boys stay outta trouble?" she asked, thanking the supervising patrolman and waving him away.

"Oi," Spike replied, pushing Angel's hand away when the lawyer placed it on his chest to keep him calm, "this wasn't our fault, _Detective_. That tosser came after us and tried to stab me in the back!"

Turning to Angel, Kate asked, "Is this true, Mr. Angelus?"

"Yes," Angel nodded, trying to keep his expression courtroom-neutral. "We were attacked and had to disarm the assailant. In the scuffle, I knocked him unconscious."

"Uh-huh," she muttered, her sharp eyes fixed on Angel's face, probably looking for any sign of dissembling or weakness that she could pounce on. "And you have no idea who it was that attacked you?"

"Never seen 'im before in my life," Spike insisted. "You?" he asked Angel.

Feeling his skin grow hot under the woman's unrelenting gaze, he said, "To the best of my knowledge I'd never met the assailant until today."

Lockley hummed and finally broke her eyes away from Angel's face, pulling a small notebook from her jacket pocket and clicking her pen. "What about the name? Zachary Salvatore?"

Both men indicated no and Lockley sighed. "I've seen the security tape, which looked like there was more going on than self defense, so I should bring you both in." Angel opened his mouth to protest, but the detective held her hand up at him. "But I'm not going to. Mr. Salvatore has well-established ties to organized crime, so we're going to take a different tack, okay?"

"Anything that keeps my client out of trouble," Angel nodded, ignoring Spike when the blonde punched his arm in protest.

"Right," Lockley replied and Angel could tell she was trying very hard not to smile at Spike's casual violence against him. "I'm placing a squad car on protective detail for you, twenty-four-seven. Wouldn't want you to miss your day in court, now would we, Mr. Stewart?"

Spike muttered, "Fucking hell," and turned away from Angel and the detective, pacing a few steps away. Angel knew Spike wouldn't be pleased with Lockley's plan, since he'd always chafed under any kind of supervision.

"Is that really necessary?" Angel asked Kate softly, giving her a little smile that he hoped would come across as charming.

Instead of being impressed, she laughed and shook her head at him. "It is if I say it is," she insisted. "Until further notice, neither of you goes anywhere without police escort."

"Now that just seems wasteful," Angel pointed out, wondering if maybe there was another reason this woman wanted to know where he was at all times. Or, if she really did suspect Spike of something and was using this as an excuse to keep tabs on him.

Kate shrugged and replied, "It won't be if the threat against you escalates. You never know with these mob guys. They don't normally mess around. If they go after someone, they tend to go for the throat."

Angel sighed and looked over to where Spike was bugging an officer for a light. "You don't know which of us he was after?"

"No I don't," Detective Lockley shook her head with frustration. "And if your client would just tell me who he was with on the night of Riley Finn's murder, I could rule out a number of suspects for this attack."

Angel caught Spike's eye across the garage, hating how tightly his hands were tied in this situation. If only he could tell Kate what he knew, why he knew that Spike was innocent, things would be so much easier. Wouldn't they? In any case, he was going to have a damn difficult time of building any sort of defense without a credible alibi. Sighing in frustration, Angel spoke softly to the detective beside him and told her, "He's had some more threats, while he was in custody, that have made it even more difficult for me to convince him to tell you his alibi."

Kate fixed him with another of her fiery-eyed stares. Angel knew she did it to intimidate, but he found it almost endearing instead. Oh, that was one thing he would _not_ tell her anytime soon. Eventually she asked, "Threats by whom?"

"He didn't say, and I doubt he'd tell you that either," Angel sighed. "But I thought you should know, in any case."

Kate replied by asking, "What reason do I have to trust you, Mr. Angelus? You've got a nasty reputation for getting evil people out of serving their time. How do I know this isn't just some sympathy ploy on your part?"

"Will isn't evil," Angel insisted, ashamed by the fact that she was somewhat right about his list of former clients. "He's just lost. And I'm just trying to do the right thing by a good friend."

Kate nodded as her eyes slid over to watch Spike light up and walk away from the police officers, sniffing brashly and scratching one eyebrow with his thumb. Then, she took a breath as if making a decision and said, "Find me that proof, Mr. Angelus. And steer Mr. Stewart clear of any more trouble."

After a moment where he was sure Lockley would continue, Angel asked, "And what?"

"And in the meantime, I'll circumspectly devote my energies to finding alternative suspects."

Angel smiled a deep, genuine smile at the detective's words, his heart jumping a funny little dance when the policewoman blushed before clearing her throat and saying, "Officer Alvaerez will accompany you up to your apartment so my team can finish here.

"Thank you, Detective," Angel nodded, waving Spike over. He never thought he would have been grateful about being attacked, but as Detective Kate Lockley strode away to join her colleagues, Angel began to feel hopeful. Hopeful that Spike would be okay, hopeful that he wouldn't lose his job over this case, and hopeful that maybe he was ready to really start dating someone again - someone _appropriate _for him. Like perhaps Detective Kate Lockley once this case was over…

After being escorted up the elevator and to his apartment door, Angel let Officer Alvaerez take a look around to make sure the place was empty. And then it was just him and Spike.

"What now?" the blonde asked, crashing down on Angel's leather couch and sprawling there.

"First things first," Angel said, "I'm making a phone call."

Spike shrugged and grabbed the TV remote, making himself at home while Angel stole away into his bedroom. There, he dialed his cell phone and waited for someone on the other end to pick up.

Eventually a woman answered with laughter and a southern accent in her voice, "Burkle and Gunn Investigations. How can we help you today?"

"Fred, it's me," Angel replied, the woman's tone making him smile a little.

"Oh, hey, Angel!" she cried. "We haven't heard from you in a dog's age! Hey, Charles," Fred called away from the phone, "it's Angel!"

Angel heard the man's deep voice call from the background, "Tell that son of a bitch we're not interested."

"Oh, don't listen to him," the woman chuckled. "He's still a little prickly about that last case."

"Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be such a clusterfuck," Angel replied before sighing. "Does this mean you won't take another case?"

"We'll take a case, Angel, believe you me. It's just..."

"What?"

"I don't think we'll be able to give you a discount, is all," Fred told him, her voice clenching up like she was preparing for a fight. "I know you kept me out of jail and I'll always be grateful, but my partner is just about fed up with you."

"Damn," Angel muttered, knowing how stubborn Charles Gunn could be when he got it into his head that he was right about something. "Well, it's fine. I'll get my client to pay the whole charge."

"Some big-wig in trouble?"

"No, I'm defending a friend. His 'stepmother' is footing the bill, and that woman has way too much money to begin with."

"Alright," Fred giggled. "What do you need us to do?"

"It's moderately illegal," the lawyer warned.

"Ooh," Fred just about squealed in response, "our favorite kind of case! Gimme the skinny, pal."

Angel chuckled and gave the private eye all the details of the information he needed. "And I'll try to get you some extra if you can make this snappy. I'm not sure how long the guy's going to leave that evidence intact."

"Sure thing, Angel!" Fred replied. "We'll get on this right away tonight."

"Thanks, Fred," Angel said in farewell, hanging up before wandering out into the living room, looking for his new houseguest. When he wasn't there, Angel continued his search, worried that the blonde had slipped away somehow, escaping Angel's and the police's watching eyes. It wouldn't be surprising of him to do so, but Angel then found Spike in the guest room, dumping his shopping bags out on the bed. "Hey," Angel announced his presence, giving the blonde an encouraging smile when he looked up.

"Hey, yourself," Spike replied, gaze flitting back to the heap of clothing and toiletries. "Thought I'd try to find something a little more comfortable than this bloody jacket and tie."

"You were the one who insisted on the fancy place with the fancy dress code."

"And it worked, dinnint?" Spike pointed out, flinging his tie down onto the bed, the coat following just afterward. "Impressed the princess and her lapdog. Got you your payday, love."

Angel tilted his head as Spike looked up at him, "You staged all this for me?"

"Yeah, well," Spike dismissed, pushing Angel out the door with one hand flat on his chest, "didn't seem right getting so much help from you without returnin' the favor." Once Angel was out the door, Spike smiled and said, "Order up some pizza or wings or somethin', Ange? Oh, and find some sort of liquor. I'm dying for a drink." Then, he closed the door in Angel's face, presumably so he could change without an audience. The lawyer knew nothing good would come of the feeling, but something deep in the pit of his stomach wanted just a little bit more.

* * *

Once the two men had eaten and drank enough of Angel's expensive scotch to become pleasantly tipsy, each of them checked the locks on all the doors and windows, just to be sure. For the first time in his life, Angel regretted not owning some sort of weapon, like a small handgun of sorts or even a baseball bat.

Despite the pleasant effects of the alcohol, Angel had a difficult time trying to sleep, his heart starting to pound in his ears and his stomach turning whenever he thought too directly about the attack he'd survived that day. It was just one guy with one knife, but a professional hit man like him could have easily killed them with it, had Angel not turned around when he did. That small twist of fate was the most difficult thought to put aside.

If things had gone just slightly differently, he would be dead right now. Angel didn't have any family and besides maybe Darla, not many people would be all that upset to see him go. It made him feel lacking, like a failure of a human being that he didn't have any close attachments besides his long-since-exed ex-girlfriend and her brother, who could easily have joined him in dying.

Funny how that state of affairs hadn't bothered him until now.

While Angel dozed for a few minutes between bouts of replaying the day's events over and over in his head, his bedroom door creaked open. Hearing the noise, Angel shot to sitting upright, his heart beating wildly in his throat and his overtired mind wondering if an end-table drawer would make an appropriate weapon.

"Shush, Ange," Spike whispered in the darkness, "it's just me."

"You," Angel asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and checking the clock to see yes, it was three o 'clock in the morning, "you need something?"

"Can't sleep in there," Spike sighed, his weight dipping the far side of Angel's bed. "There's this clicking noise in the room that's driving me bats, yeah? Thought maybe it'd be okay if I bunked here with you, just for a few hours?"

Clearing the sleep from his throat, Angel found the butterflies in his stomach fluttering for a new reason. Spike wanted to sleep there, next to him. Angel wondered if Spike's motivations could have been for the same reasons, or if he was just jumpy as hell about what had happened over the last two days and wanted the company so he wouldn't feel so scared. Angel knew he would have appreciated Spike's company for that reason alone.

"Sure," he told Spike, pulling his body more fully to one side of the bed and rearranging the sheets to make them more welcoming. To set his mind at ease about the one thought prominent in his mind, Angel qualified his assent by saying, "But no funny business."

Those few words made Spike laugh softly. "Alright, mate," he agreed, sighing as he slipped under the covers. "No funny business."

* * *

_So, what did you think? Please remember to review._

_Also, to the regular readers of my __**Spangel series**__, The Vampire/Slayer Archives, I've been missing some regular reviewers during the most recent installment, "Consequence," which is the sequel to "Legacy." I've listed it under the Buffy section of this site because the only not-originally-on-Buffy character left is Fred/Illyria. Though still Spike and Angel centered, the rest of the Vampire/Slayer series will be posted under the Buffy listings. If you don't want to visit that strange and scary land, you can get to "Consequence" easily by visiting my profile page. I hope you enjoy it!_

_Thanks again, everyone, for reading._


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